Marijuana Candy And Sibling Rivalry At Halloween

As a child, Halloween was always one of my favorite holidays. It was one of the few times during the year where I did not have a bedtime. My costumes were always set on a default setting: I could either be a clown, which was a costume I received as a hand-me-down from my cousin; the other choice involved me being the prey of my mother’s imagination. She would race around the house trying to assemble a costume from whatever happened to be around the house. Some years I went as a hobo and other years I went as a dead hobo. I never claimed that my mother had the greatest imagination.

My sister and I would spend the week of Halloween building a reconnaissance plan that would optimize our candy options and minimize the houses from previous years that did not give out candy. We would share information with classmates on the yard and would often supply faulty intelligence so that we could throw off the competition.

My dad usually took my sister and myself trick-or-treating. He usually thrived on doing the “don’ts” from the guidebook of Halloween mischief. Even know I have the impression that my dad confused Halloween with Mardis Gras. He would carry one beer in his hand and have two reserves in his pockets. Most children are allowed to trick-or-treat until their bags are filled up, my sister and I operated under a different protocol. We were only allowed to go as far as my dad’s reserves would carry him. Fortunately, we were never too far from a liquor store — so we could always make the next block.

In addition to chaperone, my father was the official candy taster. You could never be careful, and you never know who is out there trying to contaminate candy with marijuana. He never worried about razor blades inside of candied apples. Marijuana candy was of a higher priority that demanded the strictest of defense policies. I was a nerd that believed every public service announcement on television, and at the same time, not an enthusiast of fruit, so I played it safe and always gave him the oranges, peanuts and fortune cookies that people were always shoveling into my bag. I would also give up candy that I loathed. I would pretend that black licorice candy pieces came in compromised wrappers so that my dad would lay claim to them. I also despised those orange wedge candies that were covered in sugar, but would so often get stuck to my teeth.

By the time we made it home, two things would be certain. My dad would need a nap, and I would steal my sister’s candy while she went to change from her costume to her pijamas. I would take fistfuls of Snickers miniatures and replace them with butterscotch disks and peppermint candy. My child brain was also very prejudicial against candy that went against the holiday season. I would always assume that the candy canes people gave out were simply leftover Christmas relics from previous years. In my eyes, they were gross, but what my sister did not know simply would not hurt her – so in they went, in her bag.

Although I do not go out and trick-or-treat anymore, its magic and allure is not lost on me. I still enjoy the cold stillness of night, as I join my friends and watch them pass on their traditions to their children. I might even dress up this year and join in the festivities. This year, I am thinking I may go as a dead hobo.